Let's Take Off To Peru
by regrette rien
Summary: A continuation of "Come Fly With Me" - OC Alec comes to London to visit Sherlock and John, and while some things don't go to plan, other things most definitely do. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a little continuation of my fic ****Come Fly With Me****, starring OC Alec (a character neatly stolen from the movie 'Maurice' where he is played by a young Rupert Graves).  
Alec finally takes up Sherlock's offer to come and visit him and John in London ;)  
There is minimal (read: no) porn in this chapter, sorry to disappoint! But it is well and truly on the way.**

**French and France inconsistencies are possibly rife in this fic - please point them out to me! Corrections welcome!**

**Otherwise, please enjoy! **

**xxRegretteRienxx**

Shortly after Sherlock John's visit to Bordeaux, Alec was contacted by a representative of _le Jardin des Plantes, _the most prominent botanic institute in France. He could barely believe his ears. He had never dared to dream he'd be able to attain a position with them!

The funny thing was, he didn't even remember applying for the job...but he must have done. Surely?

It was fantastic work, infinitely fulfilling and fascinating. Every day was a learning curve. Alec was so pleased with it, and Sherlock had been so very gracious when Alec had texted him to inform that there was a new need for a groundsman at the Holmes estate. Strange to be _texting_ in regards to leaving his job, but Sherlock had insisted that was the only for of contact Alec could reliably get a response from, with him.

_Bonne chance. Good luck._ Sherlock had said in his reply, and if Alec didn't know better, he would have sworn that the man conveyed a sense of prior knowledge about Alec's new job...impossible. Now Alec was just being paranoid.

As always, Alec had buckled down and devoted himself to his employment, too often working many more hours than he realised, and before he knew it, the division's Employee Health officer, Charlotte (she preferred Charlie), came knocking at his door.

"How are you, Alec?" She'd asked, all professional distance and clinical interest, but a certain softness in her eyes and posture that really struck a chord with him, and made his heart ache to have her near.

"Well." he nodded. "Sorry, I know, I should be doing better - and I'm meaning to get this report done, but I was sidetracked by some observations regarding symbiosis and the hibiscus plant - " he gestured towards his carefully-maintained greenhouse adjoining his office: all scientific, of course, but he couldn't help thinking how lucky he was to have a job where he could have the outdoors indoors and cultivate whatever plants he pleased. "It's research that follows on from the works of Dr. Flautin, very interesting, have you read - ?"

"No, sorry," Charlie held up a hand to stop his nervous spiel, but she was smiling. "The boss is very happy with your work, but he's concerned. We all are, a little. You've been working for almost a year now, taking on a lot of overtime, doing extra assignments, attending the centre on weekends - according to our records, you haven't had a single day off since you started here, and that includes _public holidays!_ Alec, the boss is ordering, and I'm supporting him on this, time off. Relax. It will be a paid holiday. Do whatever you like, but do not come into work. You're a good employee, we don't want you to burn yourself out."

Alec swallowed. He hadn't realised just how much his life had changed to centre around this new job - it was his dream job, and he'd wanted to demonstrate that he was worthy. Also, it was plain fun, if he was perfectly honest. He hadn't felt a need for a holiday, because he hadn't truly felt overworked. But an order was an order.

"How...how long for?"

"_Une mois._" _One month._ Charlie said, in a no-arguments tone. "Your job will be waiting for you when you get back, and we'll get Lestrade from next door to look after your greenhouse while you're gone."

Alec nodded. He knew the botanist she was referring to, of course. That wasn't to say he particularly trusted the man. Grey hair and dark eyes: he reminded Alec of a wolf, ever hungry, as though he was searching through every hidden part of your being.

_He's good at his job, though,_ Alec reminded himself. _Professional. He wouldn't let anything happen to the plants._

"It'll be just starting spring when you get back, you should like that." Charlie was saying. "Plenty of new projects for the season." She smiled, and Alec felt a flicker in his stomach. _Dieu, it has been a while,_ he realised. _I wonder if her boyfriend is open to - No, focus! _he stopped the train of thought.

"Um, well, thank you. Thank you for your consideration. When does my holiday begin?"

"Finish off this week," Charlie said, pausing to stroke the Japanese peace lily he kept near the doorway, "Gives you time to get everything in order before you go."

"Thanks." Alec said, and really meant it. An idea had sparked up in his mind.

Friday afternoon, Alec packed up his desk, picked up his suitcase, and caught a taxi to the airport.

Trepidation surged through him as the plane approached its destination, but he was soon reassured that his limited English was good enough to deliver him from Heathrow to Baker St. And now, here he was, standing on the kerb, staring at Sherlock's house (lovely, but so small, so removed from nature - why would he live here, and not on the estate?): suitcase in one hand, a silk serviette in the other.

He checked the address again - it had been written twice for him. Once in Sherlock's hasty scrawl, once carefully, _legibly_ by John. "You couldn't find a piece of _paper_?" John had tutted at Sherlock, who pouted, shrugged, and returned to playing his violin - as though writing notes on 100-Euro serviettes was absolutely commonplace, and _John_ was eccentric in his reaction.

Alec sighed, the nervous anticipation that had built up in him completely evaporating. The address was correct. The problem, however, remained: evidently, no-one was home.

"Don't concern yourself with contacting us prior to your visit," Sherlock had instructed, "We can't guarantee when...work...will pick up. Just come. There'll be someone at home - myself, John. At a pinch, Mrs. Hudson. She lives in the same building. She'll let you in."

Alec had been trying so hard not to let on about just how excited he was regarding the invitation (and utterly failing), that he hadn't quite understood. "She lives in the same building as you?" he checked. "So, she is your housekeeper?"

"Landlady." John had quickly corrected him, and although Alec had nodded an affirmation, he still hadn't really understood.

There was _definitely_ nobody home. No lights on inside, no sounds of life, and now Alec had rung the doorbell three times.

Embarrassed, and flustered, not knowing what to do next, Alec looked up and down the street.

Pret a Manger? Perfect! Exactly what he needed. Get some familiar food - his stomach was telling him to find a _pain au chocolat _- and sit and think for a while. Surely someone would come home soon?

Well. That was spectacularly unsuccessful.

First of all, Alec tried to order in French, but that was only met with a blank stare.

He then repeated his order, stammering out the unfamiliar English words.

"Sir, we don't have any of that here. Just what's on the shelves, alright?" The cashier explained, none-too-patiently, and Alec blushed furiously.

"A coffee, please, and - this - " he grabbed a packet of biscuits from the counter.

He went against his plan, and didn't stay in the cafe; walked straight back to 221, munching on the biscuits as he went. He sat on the step, and wondered what to do. He could probably book a hotel, but where? He couldn't see any nearby, and he didn't want to pay more than he should, just because he didn't speak English well.

Another biscuit.

If only he could get in touch with either John or Sherlock - but, oh, of course! How completely silly!

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sherlock. Without realising, he held his breath as it rang, rang - and rang out, connecting him to voicemail.

"Sherlock! _Je suis arrivé!_" he exclaimed. "Sorry - well, no, because you said not to worry, but now I'm here and no-one is at home...can you please call me back?" he hung up.

_Merde! Fou! I didn't say my name!_

Alec worried about whether to call again and leave another message letting Sherlock know who he was.

_Maybe Sherlock will recognise my voice? Maybe he doesn't get a lot of phonecalls in French?_

Alec decided to wait ten minutes, and if he received no reply, to try again.

Ten minutes passed. Alec finished his coffee, and tucked the empty cup between his feet, knees drawn up into his chest to retain the heat. Should he go and buy another? It'd keep him warm. But he was tired. He didn't like the prospect of carrying his suitcase all that way.

There _was_ a small store, much closer, at 223 Baker St., Alec saw, casting his eyes balefully over the heavily-shuttered entrance. He wouldn't be getting coffee there anytime soon.

He dialed Sherlock's number again. It went straight to voicemail.

His message was far more tentative this time, and he said 'please' more than anything else.

His head was in turmoil when he hung up.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Not much to say, really. Porn ahoy! XD**

**xxRegretteRienxx**

_Wait a minute._ Alec realised. _Don't I have -_ he scrolled through the contacts on his phone. _Apparently not._

There was no number listed under John, or Watson, or even Docteur.

Alec chewed his lip. He'd been hanging around Baker St for almost an hour now. It was dark, and chilly, and he didn't know anywhere else to go. This was his one reference point, here, and he was entirely alone. Why hadn't he just visited his father for his holiday?

Alec pocketed his phone, and wrapped his coat tighter around himself. He yawned widely. It had been a long day. He would just rest his eyes for a second, and then he'd be able to think of something to do; a solution to this whole debacle.

A clatter of coins made him start, and he realised he'd actually fallen asleep. And someone had just walked past him, into 221.

He jerked, scuffled to his feet, paying no heed to the coffee cup spilling the change onto the pavement.

"Escus-e me!" Alec exclaimed, stuttering between languages, reaching to touch the man on the elbow.

John turned around: cautious, confused, prepared to fight – then he saw Alec's face. Recognition.

"Oh my god." he breathed, and a huge smile took over his features.

"Allo." Alec grinned in return.

"Oh my god!" John cried out, leaping forward, engulfing Alec in a hug. "Alec! How long have you been waiting here? Why didn't you call me? Does Sherlock know? Come on, let's go inside, Jesus, your hands are freezing – it's so good to see you, mate."

Alec didn't follow everything John said – the man was speaking so fast – but his tone was friendly, welcoming, clearly he was happy to see him. He let himself be led into the building, up the stairs into a chaotic apartment: as though a whole family with eclectic tastes and hoarding tendencies were living there, with no concerns for tidiness or order.

"Doesn't Madame Hudson clean for you?" Alec enquired.

John, inexplicably, snorted. "Best not to let her hear you say that, okay? Here, you can put your suitcase in Sherlock's room – it's basically just storage now. Do you want tea? Coffee? Something to eat?" he'd slowed down slightly, remembering that Alec wasn't completely fluent, but the excitement was still perceptible in his voice and movements.

"Yes." Alec said, looking around at all the oddments curiously. "May I use the shower? Sorry. It was – I had to work today. I came here as soon as I finish."

"Really? No, of course. I'll get you a towel. The door doesn't exactly shut – Sherlock's fault – but don't worry, I won't intrude." John babbled, and Alec laughed. As if he would mind John joining him in the shower. English.

John was busy in the kitchen when Alec finished with his shower, and a welcoming fire had been lit in the fireplace.

"Hey," John greeted him easily, adding something to the already delicious-smelling pan on the stovetop. "Devilled sausages." he said, in response to Alec's curious look. "One of the few things I can cook with any confidence. And Sherlock deigns to eat them, so I call that a success."

"I don't know it." Alec confessed, with a shrug. "But the smell is good."

"Well, hopefully you like them, otherwise we'll have to order in. I'm afraid there's not a great deal of food in the house." John admitted, with the sort of rueful grin that seemed to be part and parcel of any extended association with the Holmeses.

He did like devilled sausages, it turned out.

He also liked the casual way John made small talk.

He particularly liked the way John's eyes never stopped roaming over Alec's body in a flattering, appreciative manner.

He probably liked the way John kept unconsciously licking his lips even more than his lingering gaze, but it was very hard to tell the difference.

He even liked the too-tangy, sickly English wine that John had opened up to share between them with the dinner, but perhaps that didn't count, since it wasn't until the third mouthful that he found it even vaguely palatable.

At some point, they'd migrated to the couch, and when John had complained good-naturedly about the dull, yet stressful day he'd had, Alec hadn't even hesitated – simply placed gentle pressure on John's shoulder and back, and the man had cooperatively shifted around, allowing Alec access to his tense muscles.

"Oh – you really don't have to –" John protested, but spoiled it all with an involuntary "Urkl", in such a tone which Alec knew to mean "Please".

At some point, the spot just below John's left ear had become completely irresistible, and Alec found himself obliged to lean forward, to place his lips _just there_, and caress, suck, lick and nip, delicately…determinedly.

John leant into it, then caught himself.

"Wait." he said, concerned, and Alec allowed him to turn back around. "Should we do this? I mean, I know Sherlock's just as into you as I am, and…that time in Bordeaux was really, _really_ good, but – is it right if he's not here? Does he even know you're in London?"

Alec smiled. "He must. I gave him a message." he assured, moving to John's lips.

"Typical." John chuckled. "Be too much to expect him to pass the information along to me, now."

His kiss was just as receptive as Alec remembered; just as simultaneously pliant with an underlying hint of power – a hint that let Alec know that he was only in charge while John permitted it.

At some point, Alec wound up on his knees in front of the couch, head bobbing vigorously, cheeks hollowing as he dedicated all his energy to sending John further towards incoherence.

The man was sprawled out now, head back, eyes closed in blissful unawares, hips thrusting gently, but never threatening to cause Alec to gag. On top of it all, John lay with limbs well and truly akimbo. Alec had always supposed that phrase was exaggeration, but yet again, here he was being proven wrong.

"So good." John moaned, which seemed to be the extent of his vocabulary at the moment.

Alec didn't mind. The poetry wasn't in _what_ was being said, rather, _how_ it was said. And John's moans, whimpers, groans, and gasps for breath were as eloquent as any ballad Alec could ever wish for.

This focus of attention was possibly why, when a six-foot entity of irate consulting detective materialised out of nowhere and barrelled Alec far away from his previous location, it was fair to say that he was somewhat taken aback.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Jealousy abounds! Sherlock doesn't seem to be pleased about their surprise visitor...**

**xxRegretteRienxx**

"John." Sherlock growled, twisting his body around so that he still held Alec down with one hand, but was able to fix his gaze on the doctor, struggling to come back to his senses on the couch.

"Would you care to explain to me what exactly is going on? Should I be killing, here? You _know_that I could cover up all evidence of that. Or should I simply dismember this abominable excuse for a – Alec!"

He'd turned his attention to exactly who he had pinned to the floor, and the rarity of startled recognition overwhelmed the detective. He fell back, balancing on the balls of his feet in a crouch for a moment, then almost toppled over – so he compensated by sweeping into a standing position.

"Bon – bonjour," Alec offered.

"Bonne nuit." Sherlock corrected automatically, sharply, pacing around the living room in agitation at having been so taken by surprise. "Alec!" he exclaimed again. "What are you doing – when did you get he – oh, obvious, 4pm, visited Pret A Mang – stupid place, isn't it? Should have gone in the other direction, a small café called Fait Accompli, would have felt more at home there, but – ah! You were stressed, worried about this trip? You do have a high anxiety reading, even in the absence of any typical stressors. But you didn't contact me, because I told you not to worry about it. And you didn't contact John. If you had, I would have known – "

"Hey!" John protested, now looking supremely peeved at having been interrupted, and additionally annoyed at Sherlock's insisting on analysing the situation rather than simply _embracing_it.

"It's a fact, John." Sherlock said coolly, and returned to picking Alec apart.

Alec shivered under the scrutiny – Sherlock was deducing rapidly, switching erratically between _Francais et Anglais_, and there was no way Alec could follow every step of the man's mental process.

Was he in trouble? Was he not? Why did Sherlock seem so angry, when Alec had left him those messages? Was John going to be in trouble? Alec couldn't let the lovely man take any of the blame, when all he'd done was be so very hospitable. It was Alec's fault – he'd initiated, over-zealous as usual –

"Stop! Stop those ridiculous thoughts! Just stop – thinking!" Sherlock shouted, extreme frustration in his voice, hands balled into fists. Altogether, the effect made Alec jump and cringe.

Sherlock reached out and grabbed Alec's hand, dragging him closer, and Alec anticipated a strike which was bound to – would inevitably – follow.

"Shh." Sherlock instructed him quietly, running his hands soothingly up and down the young man's back. Alec realised that their bodies were closer together than he'd thought, and he glanced up, to find what expression was on Sherlock's face.

He didn't understand – the man was now smiling! It was a gentle, affectionate, amused smile, and Alec wasn't the only one surprised and confused to see it, judging by John's reaction.

"Sherlock?" John asked carefully, cautious about the detective's unpredictable mood.

"Your question had better not be impossibly dull, John." Sherlock warned. "I'm afraid that my usual patience is somewhat stretched at the moment."

He moved his hands to loop long fingers around Alec's wrists, lightly resting on his pulse points – obviously assessing the younger man's emotional state.

"Why didn't you know Alec was coming to visit? He said he messaged you." John asked, head tilted to convey his bewilderment. He was standing now, pulling pants and trousers back on in a needless act of modesty.

"You messaged me?" Sherlock asked Alec in French, fingers brushing against his wrists.

Alec nodded. "I know you say do not," he attempted to explain in English, "But I am here, and nobody is at home, and it is cold and, er, duck, outside, and I do not have John's phone number, and – "

"You messaged me today?" Sherlock cut him off, continuing the discussion in English so as to not leave John out.

Alec nodded again, quickly, lips pressed tightly together.

"Well, of course I didn't receive that." Sherlock announced, not breaking his somewhat unnerving eye contact with Alec. "My phone was at home today. Fortunately, I managed to procure a temporary replacement, and therefore look up exactly when the quarterly shipments of Danish furniture depart their port of origin and arrive in London."

John smiled and took a step closer, reaching up to place an affectionate kiss on Sherlock's lips. "I take it that was to do with the case you're been working on, and not a sudden fascination with IKEA," he quipped.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Naturally, it was for a case. And IKEA is most definitely _very_Swedish, if you can manage to recall the Jedendorf case from three months ago. Or would that be over-stretching your memory?"

"Oh, whatever. Shush." John brushed off the criticism. "Or I'll realise that you leaving your phone at home today was actually an act of – how terrible – forgetfulness!" he exclaimed in mock horror. He folded his arms. "Whose phone did you steal? Donovan's?"

"Not internet-enabled." Sherlock griped, examining the skin on Alec's face closely, noting how the cinching around his eyes had increased, drawing conclusions. "To be expected, really. No, Anderson's."

"I should've guessed," John groaned, passing a hand over his face in exasperation. "Right; give me it, I'll make sure he gets it back tomorrow." he instructed, holding his hand out.

"No." Sherlock refused, sitting on the couch and pulling Alec with him.

"Why not?" John demanded.

Sherlock shrugged, temporarily occupied by his attempt to snog Alec's face off.

"Sherlock." John chastised. "Stop trying to distract me. You can't just keep Anderson's phone!"

"I haven't," Sherlock said calmly, pulling away from Alec with a sigh. "I promise you I no longer have Anderson's phone in my possession."

John studied him for a moment.

Alec looked between the two of them, trying to understand what was going on. Apparently, Sherlock was no longer angry. This was fantastic, as far as Alec was concerned, his head spinning from the kiss he'd just been subjected to. Instead, John was aggrieved now – but in a very particular John style.

"What did you do with it, Sherlock?" John said, finally.

Sherlock affected a hurt expression. "It's hardly my fault if I suffered a moment of uncoordinated dexterity while crossing the Thames, is it?" he protested.

John saw through it with zero effort. "You threw it in the Thames." he translated, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Bloody hell, Sherlock, you can't just go around stealing people's phones and hurling them off bridges!"

"Anderson is _not_a people." Sherlock argued haughtily. "Why are you being so tedious, John? Poor Alec is here, and all you can talk about is Anderson? Where's that famous Watson hospitality that I keep hearing about?" he taunted, turning his attention back to Alec.

"I trust that you had an enjoyable journey here?" he asked rhetorically, slipping his hands under the hem of Alec's shirt – Alec's jacket and coat had been left draped over the foot of Sherlock's bed, when he'd emerged from the shower and realised the apartment had been made substantially warmer by John's considerately lighting a fire in the fireplace. That said, a rush of goosebumps scattered over his skin at Sherlock's light touch now.

"Welcome to London," Sherlock was saying, with every ounce of dry humour the man possessed. He pulled Alec's shirt up and over his head, and leaned in to gently nip at his collarbone.

Alec moaned appreciatively, his head tilted back. But Sherlock stopped after a moment, moved away, and Alec opened his eyes to see what was happening.

Sherlock was smiling at John, and there was no translation of _that _expression required.

Hunger.

Famishment.

John shook his head in gentle amusement at Sherlock's insatiable appetite, but reached out to Sherlock, and drew the man up from the couch. His gesture should have been rough, violent; he bunched the detective's collar in his hand. Yet somehow, his measured motion and carefully-maintained eye contact, only portrayed a sense of contemplation.

Sherlock's lips parted in anticipation of a kiss from John, and Alec found himself licking his lips in a mirrored anticipation, waiting for the two men's faces to meet.

They didn't.

John halted Sherlock's motion when the man was _just _shy of standing fully upright, making them face-to-face, Sherlock awkwardly curled over.

John didn't release his grip on the detective's collar.

"Here, Alec." John said in a low, enticing voice. "Let me show you the sights." As he spoke, he slipped his other hand through the vertical line of buttons on Sherlock's shirt, gently threatening to simply jerk and tear the shirt open; to simply spray the buttons in a plastic shower around the room.

Sherlock made a small noise of protest - whether it was in retaliation to the peril posed against his attire, or the crouch he was being held in causing his muscles to strain, Alec wasn't sure. Either way, John's expression changed, softened. He released Sherlock, allowed him to stand, and instead shuffled the man's shirt out of his trousers and over his head.

Their differing angles could have made it a tangled manoeuvre; but Sherlock enthusiastically wriggled himself out of the clothing item. He grinned at John triumphantly, once undressed, and grasped the doctor's shoulders firmly, engulfing his mouth in an impassioned kiss.

John's hands moved automatically to Sherlock's belt, but Sherlock twisted out of reach.

"Come on," he instructed eagerly, holding John's arm and heading towards the stairs. He called over his shoulder, "Allons-y, Alec!" with a highly inappropriately-sized smile.

Alec jumped to obey the instruction/suggestion/invitation...Did it matter what it was? Visions of the men's visit to Bordeaux flashed through Alec's mind, and he found himself having to take care climbing the stairs, so that his knees, weak from excitement, wouldn't betray him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Could it be? More porn? Ah, I'm too good to you!**

**This chapter also has a bit of French language (translations provided)...**

**xxRegretteRienxx**

"Far be it from me to be anything less than welcoming," Sherlock murmured, as he nipped and nuzzled along Alec's neck, a sensation that made the young man's legs quiver. Fortunately, Sherlock anticipated this, and kept him standing upright.

"John, you're watching," Sherlock ordered, but it was perhaps the most seductive order Alec had ever heard. He almost wished it had been directed at him, until he realised what it meant. Sherlock wanted Alec to himself.

This was made all the more clear when John lingered nearby, getting in Sherlock's way and causing the detective to growl impatiently.

"You've already given Alec…plenty, tonight. Sit there until we're equal," Sherlock instructed, waving his hand towards the chair a small distance away from the bed.

John scowled, and grumbled, but ambushed Sherlock with a quickly passionate kiss, grasping handfuls of Sherlock's hair and playfully ruffling the lot. Sherlock glared, but said nothing, directing his attention back to Alec. The idea struck Alec all of a sudden that Sherlock would probably dismember anyone else who dared to attempt such a thing. Quite possibly literally. A shiver ran through him at the thought of Sherlock's intense rage being unleashed.

John sat willingly enough, while Sherlock lowered Alec slowly onto the bed.

"I don't mind having a rest anyway," he mentioned, suppressing a yawn. "I'm completely knackered – you seem to expect much more of me than any rational human being. But that shouldn't surprise me, should it?" He and Sherlock shared a smile.

"You do yourself an injustice," Sherlock admonished; "You always do." And he darted away from Alec for a moment to plant a kiss on John's lips. They lingered, reveling in the sensations of one another when John broke them apart, gently pushing Sherlock in the direction of Alec once more.

"Come on, give us a good show then," John instructed, with a pat on Sherlock's backside. Alec looked over to John, and opened his mouth to extend some form of invitation for the other man to join them, but Sherlock was faster, covering Alec's mouth with his own, and there was a quick flash of pain at Alec's bottom lip, from the sharp nip Sherlock swiftly delivered.

"I will tell him to join us once I've made sure you are entirely…comfortable," Sherlock assured Alec, and the younger man moaned, simultaneously lovehating Sherlock's hard-on being rubbed against the front of his trousers. He could feel the heat of it – or was he just imagining it? He could feel the exact length of it – or was he just remembering? He wanted to touch it – and that, he knew, wasn't just in his mind. His own trousers were too obtrusive all of a sudden, and he wriggled out of Sherlock's embrace urgently, struggling to remove them. The clasp was most probably bent out of shape from his battle. Sherlock, naturally, was no help at all.

Alec drank in the view of Sherlock draped across the bed, an expectant look on his face as he waited to be attended to once more. Alec's exasperation at Sherlock's non-participation was quickly dissipated by a few locks breaking out of the jumble of curls and falling across the man's face, accentuating his youth and recklessness. Alec's fingers itched to reach out and stroke it, to fiddle with it and play with the irrepressible kinks which would always spring back, no matter what Alec did to them.

_"Tu peux si tu veux. Ce serait – acceptable," You could do it, it would be – acceptable,_ Sherlock said, getting to his knees and leaning forward, fixing his lips to a chosen point on Alec's collarbone.

Alec hadn't even said anything about wanting to touch Sherlock's hair, but of course, he had no secrets from Sherlock.

The gentle-sharp interspersal of lips, tongue, and teeth distracted Alec from wondering at what he'd just been offered, and he gasped, his sudden intake of breath further encouraged by Sherlock's hand which had snuck lower and was massaging Alec's cock into a higher level of interest.

Alec wriggled to part his legs further, but arched his back to move his collarbone away from Sherlock's erotic torture – at the same time he gently cupped Sherlock's chin in his fingers, and tilted Sherlock's head up in order to access him for a decent snog.

Sherlock followed the physical indicators with a level of compliance Alec could hardly believe. Alec moved his hand slowly – oh, so slowly! – from Sherlock's chin up, following the angle of his jaw to the bottom of his ear, and the edge of his curls just barely brushing against Alec's fingertips. He rested his hand here for a moment, lest Sherlock startle or change his mind. But Sherlock didn't move, apart from his rhythmic strokes of Alec's nether region, and his impassioned participation – he was participating _now_! – in the kiss.

Steeling himself, Alec sank his fingers into the wild conglomeration of curls, marveling at how soft and thick they were. He almost had a heart attack when Sherlock emitted a moan of such intensity that Alec was certain he was in pain of some description. He jumped, breaking the kiss, and interrupting his handjob.

With an impatient huff, Sherlock found Alec's hand, and pressed gentle kisses to the backs of Alec's knuckles, then guiding the hand into his hair again. Alec took the hint, and this time when Sherlock's eyes drooped shut rapturously, and his lips parted to let his moan break free, Alec didn't flinch away.

He slid his other hand into Sherlock's hair, and dipped his head to recapture Sherlock's lips in a kiss. A thrill ran through him when Sherlock thrust his hips against him, a purely instinctive action, which the man would never usually permit his body to perform.

Alec had a fleeting thought to sneak one of his hands down, and encourage Sherlock's rocking, thrusting actions to a greater extent, but that would have meant depriving himself of half the unique privilege he was currently experiencing, and he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Instead, he pursued the deep, elaborate kiss, and repositioned his body, looping his legs around Sherlock's hips, and arching back once more. This time there was an overall leverage effect of pulling Sherlock up and over him, and forcing their groins closer together. Alec felt Sherlock's lips stretch into a smile, and couldn't help smiling back, albeit momentarily, as he returned quickly to the delicious task of exploring every corner of Sherlock's mouth.

_"Ingénieux," Clever,_ Sherlock whispered, then occupied himself fully with enjoying Alec to the best of his abilities. The rutting against one another was not enough for Sherlock, understandably, with a mind as sharp as his, he needed something greater to both stimulate and occupy him – and his hand soon became actively involved down low between their bodies once more.

Alec's kiss fumbled and broke as he gasped for air, shocked by the sudden contact. He shuddered on the next stroke, heat from both Sherlock's hand and his erection working to drive Alec insane, but he didn't come. He broke off the kisses to look Sherlock in the eye – the devilish grin covering Sherlock's expression did nothing to allay his concerns.

_"Pas avant que je te le dire," Not until I say,_ Sherlock murmured, but his bravado was shattered when Alec sunk his fingers deep into the mess of curls, and, digging his nails in just so, ran tickling, tracing lines from one end of Sherlock's head to the other.

"Ngh…God…" Sherlock moaned, simultaneously trying to press into Alec's hands and not break the man's hold.

"Jesus." John chuckled from his vantage point to the side, his voice thick with want, his utterance reminding Alec with a start that they had an audience. His glance over to the doctor coincided with his trademark 'I am aroused' lip-licking, and Alec found himself suddenly short of breath once again.

_"Quoi!" What!_ he exclaimed, when Sherlock demanded his attention back again, and Alec realised the weak point in his current position – he was completely at Sherlock's mercy…and the man had none. Sherlock wanted to take everything from Alec, and Alec had no way of arguing, both literally and figuratively.

A short word to John resulted in a familiar-looking tube being deposited in Sherlock's hand, and even as Alec's brain informed him what was coming, one slender finger was probing into his arse, and; as with everything the detective was wont to do; set about investigating, observing its surroundings. But curiosity only delayed him so long. Sherlock knew precisely what he was after, and the best way to go about getting it.

Another finger swiftly joined the first, and then Alec was overcome by sensation and he knew no more. When he came back to coherence, he ascertained that Sherlock's thumb was pressing determinedly into his perineum, and therefore providing the final tipping point for Alec to go over. And still Sherlock wasn't letting him come.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Final chapter! This chapter is way longer than the others, because I couldn't find a good point to separate it into two...I'm sure there won't be many complaints!**

**Porn-heavy, and French-heavy, including a Sherlockian deduction in French! (translations provided) **

**Please enjoy!**

**xxRegretteRienxx**

_"Tu es avec moi?" Are you back?_ Sherlock whispered – unnecessary platitudes having obviously been drummed into him by prolonged exposure to John, as his gaze cutting into every part of Alec's body and soul would be providing the detective with far more information than anything Alec could possibly hope to muddle together in his current state.

The next few strokes were painfully slow, and Sherlock tormented Alec further by stopping altogether when Alec's rate of breathing increased, or became even the tiniest bit heavier.

_"S'il te plait…" Please..._ Alec begged, then in case Sherlock wasn't paying close enough attention to have caught what he'd said, Alec tried again, in English, but just at that moment, Sherlock decided to increase both pace and pressure, causing Alec to cry out mid-word.

"Ple-ay-ah-oui-yes!" He arched into Sherlock's touch, completely to no avail, as the man cleverly, infuriatingly, relaxed his hand to follow Alec's movement without providing the friction he obviously sought.

_"Ah, mon Dieu!"_ he cried, not for the first time, and through the tears pricking at his eyes, caught a glimpse of Sherlock's expression. A cold smile glimmered at him, while analytical eyes searched for something that Sherlock apparently suspected Alec was hiding inside.

"Not an experiment," John interrupted all of a sudden, his voice soft and low, but carrying clearly across the room.

Sherlock blinked, looked chastened for a split second, then collected himself.

"Of course not," he said, but Alec had no idea who was being reassured by this statement. One thing he was sure of, however, was that Sherlock finally gave up his torturous approach.

Alec would have let out a sigh of relief, but Sherlock, being the sort of person he was, had naturally gone from one extreme to the other, and was again preventing Alec from catching his breath or gathering his senses. He had been strung out for too long, and so, lasted a ridiculously short time under Sherlock's renewed attack.

His head spun afterwards, his hands found to be clutching tightly around Sherlock's biceps. The other man was smiling again, but it had warmed up into a triumphant look, the barest shade away from "pleased", or any other expression typically witnessed on other people after they've successfully brought their lover to climax.

Sherlock had very little regard for "typical".

_"Je..." I…_ Alec began, unsure of what he was going to say, but feeling like he should say something.

_"Tu." You._ Sherlock confirmed nonsensically, adjusting Alec's position just so, pushing the younger man backwards, and looping Alec's legs over his shoulders.

An inelegant "ugh," was forced out of Alec as his body was manipulated in this way, and an instance of doubt flashed up in his mind. Was he going to be able to handle this? Sherlock stopped moving as soon as the thought occurred to Alec, and stroked his hands firmly and soothingly up and down Alec's legs, calming the quivers that shot through Alec as a result of the position and the intimate contact.

Alec took a deep breath, his chest shuddering on the exhale.

_"Regarde-moi," Look at me,_ Sherlock commanded, and he obeyed before even a second's thought.

Sherlock's eyes were blown with lust, reminding Alec of their time back on the Holmes estate in Bordeaux, reminding him that both Sherlock and John welcomed him into their lives, into their bed.

_"Ca va te faire plaisir." It will be good._ Sherlock vowed, and his voice was so earnest, so deeply impassioned, that Alec found himself nodding in agreement.

_"Le meilleur plaisir." The best._ he concurred.

_"Nous ne l'oublierons jamais." We'll never forget it._ Sherlock promised, pressing into Alec with a slow determination.

Alec sighed to overcome the hot penetration - Sherlock had used lube, had introduced that at some stage, but had foregone any more preparatory steps, allowing only the relaxation of Alec's muscles post-orgasm to decrease the pain. Fortunately, Alec was not new to the role, and simply needed to breathe and concentrate in order to – but Sherlock was not interested in *adjustments*, *coping*, and was already moving.

_"Ralentis," Slow down,_ Alec requested, panting as spikes of sensation were created with every thrust. He wriggled to try and improve his position.

_"Plus vite." Faster._ Sherlock disagreed, holding Alec still in his contortions.

_"Putain, putain, putain…" Shit, shit, shit..._ Alec chanted, not having been given a chance to keep up, and just trying to deal with how much he was enjoying this, how much he loved Sherlock's demanding forcefulness, how good it was to be pressed into the mattress by such a beautiful, lean body, how wonderful to feel John's eyes on them the whole time, to know that he was watching them so closely, taking everything in, that he knew exactly what the two of them were feeling, having experienced these very things himself.

There were no secrets, Alec realised. This truly was as physically intimate as three people could get. The thought jarred him, distracting him momentarily with the shock.

_"Tu le veux." You want it._ Sherlock whispered into his ear, a rumbly growl that made Alec shiver.

_"Vas-y." Do it._ he requested; a leap of faith that he would be saved at the other end.

"Fuuuuck." Sherlock ground out through gritted teeth, characteristically emphasising the "k" sound at the end of the word. His neck and arms were stiffened with the exertion, while his hips pounded away. Alec took him, welcomed him and was soon rewarded. The transformation that came over Sherlock's face with his orgasm was astounding, miraculous. Like a solar eclipse; something you cannot begin to fathom occurring until it actually takes place in front of you.

Sherlock surrendered to biology, and his features softened into an incongruous semblance of innocence.

_"Tu es si beau, merveilleux," You're beautiful, wonderful,_ Alec murmured, peppering Sherlock with gentle kisses as the other man struggled to even out his breath.

He was so caught up in their embrace, in the sensation of Sherlock's heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, that the side of the bed sinking down under the weight of someone joining them startled him.

_John. Of course, John,_he calmed himself, releasing his hold on Sherlock to let him turn and greet the new addition to the bed.

Lazily, they kissed, occasionally holding their faces far enough apart from one another in order to let Alec see the interplay of their mouths, tongues, lips, teeth more clearly, and Alec found himself biting his own lip whenever Sherlock took John's between his teeth.

Suddenly, Sherlock grinned with a terrible glee, and both John and Alec's attentions were brought to the movement of Sherlock's hand from the outside of John's cotton pants to the inside, where there was an unmistakable shape distorting the fabric. Alec licked his lips briefly, remembering the texture, the heat, the weight of the very thing Sherlock was now toying with.

John gasped, succumbing to Sherlock's ministrations.

"Oh, god..." he uttered in a quiet voice, just loud enough to reach the ears of his bedfellows.

"Do you want me, or him?" Sherlock questioned, in that level of baritone that inevitably made Alec sit up and take notice.

"You, always you." John begged and promised, shifting so that his body would press closer to Sherlock's.

Sherlock, however, was impossibly fast when the mood struck him, and before either John or Alec could blink, Sherlock was standing, out of the bed, and directing John towards Alec, who still lay in repose, despite the tangled mess of sheets about him.

"Show me how much you want me - with him." Sherlock commanded, the demonic smile upon his face rendering him completely unopposable.

"Jesus." John breathed, gradually comprehending that Sherlock was going to just watch. He kissed Alec soundly, half demanding, half requesting his permission.

Alec relaxed, melted under his attentions.

_"Allez, viens." Come on._ Alec spurred him, tilting his hips upwards to allow easier access.

John reached down automatically, one hand sliding under to up Alec's backside, his fingers slipping easily into Alec's loosened hole. The sensation of hot wetness caught up with him, reminding him that Alec had just been thoroughly used by Sherlock.

"Are you sure it's not too much?" he checked, not wanting to cause discomfort – never wanting to cause discomfort.

"Yes." Alec sighed, trying to convey his want and need for more; more pressure, more friction, more heat…and now.

Something of his intents got through to John, and the man ducked down swiftly, all-too-briefly caressing Alec's balls with his tongue, enveloping Alec's cock with his mouth and sucking only enough to ensure he was 'involved', so to speak. The beautiful, lethal appendage then ventured lower, teasing gently at Alec's perineum; an act which had the horrible, desirable effect of making Alec yearn for more, despite there not being any contact in the places he really lusted for.

After a deep inhalation (which made Alec realise just precisely what scents would be filling John's nose at this point in time), John delved further, his tongue penetrating Alec's hole, and investigating the contents. It was so wet, so…squirmy, that Alec couldn't help but react; his leg kicking upwards and narrowly missing – though he didn't realise this – Sherlock, who had situated himself rather too closely to be considered a safe observing distance.

"Hngh." John responded, inarticulate for a second as he separated his tongue from the crevice. A shock ran through Alec at the diminished contact, but he permitted his leg to be moved back to a less-precarious situation.

"Please…" he began, racking his brain for the English words, and tears pricking his eyes that he couldn't think of them.

_"Avec la langue," Your tongue,_ he attempted anyway, hoping John would somehow understand.

"My tongue?" John quizzed. "Don't need to ask me twice. No kicking this time."

Alec opened his eyes, searching to explain John's sudden mastery of the French language. He caught sight of Sherlock, hovering to the side of the bed, an enraptured smile on his face.

_"Attention aux pieds." No kicking._ Sherlock said, and Alec nodded, closing his eyes once again as the sensation of John's intrusion overcame him. He'd forgotten, he needn't worry – Sherlock would operate as translator for the both of them.

_"Ah, mon Dieu – ah merde!" Oh, god – oh, shit!_ he cursed, arching into the point of connection between him and John. He reached for his cock, hand slipping momentarily on the precome coating the sides.

_"Plus!" More!_ he exclaimed, and quickly found the rhythm John was following, matching it with his hand.

"Agh…no." John countered, withdrawing from Alec once again. Alec's eyes shot open, and he followed John's movement instinctively.

_"Quoi…?" What…?_ he questioned, hand faltering, but everything stopped mattering in the next moment, as John's mouth enveloped his. An array of tastes bombarded him, and he tried to isolate the elements that were himself, Sherlock, and John…but it was near impossible.

"If you're going to come again," John whispered, "You're going to do it while I'm fucking you – with my cock, not my tongue."

Alec could feel the relevant organ making itself known where John pressed it against his thigh.

"Yes – _ah, mon Dieu_ – please – yes." Alec begged, unable to think of sentences.

"So needy." John smiled, wrapping Alec's extraneous limbs around him and sliding into place as if he always belonged there.

"Fortunately for you, we have a lot to give," he murmured, applying a small nibble to Alec's collarbone. It was perhaps no coincidence that he found the same spot that Sherlock had attended to previously.

Alec, not wanting to wait any longer, jerked his body, forcing John to make contact with his prostate.

_"Mon Dieu!"_ "Jesus!" they cried simultaneously, John almost overwhelmed by the alerts his nerve endings were sending him, each one shouting variants of "hot!" "tight!" "wet!" and each one demanding more.

John wasn't much for leaving requests unfulfilled. On shaking arms, he repositioned their bodies, ensured leverage – and to Sherlock's ever-watching eye, looked for all the world like a famished lion about to feast – and began.

Somehow, his pounding was different to Sherlock's, Alec noted in some distant part of his brain. Somehow, there was a greater sense of connection. Ultimately, he couldn't think of the whys and wherefores to too great an extent, however, and once his head rapped sharply against the headboard, a more pressing concern overtook his mind. Alec stretched his arms up to protect himself from being fucked through the wall, inevitably altering certain angles.

"Yes," John hissed, as Alec's body twisted beneath him; the minor changes in position giving him a greater drive.

He grasped Alec's upper thigh firmly, and pushed it higher, allowing a plunge of greater depths. Alec's panting transformed into small, moaning gasps, and then increased even further in intensity seconds later.

He was at a loss to comprehend why or how John had managed to achieve additional force apparently from nowhere, until he pried his eyes open and saw not one, but two faces looming over him. Sherlock had clambered onto the bed and draped himself over John's back, lending his own weight and power to each of the thrusts Alec was receiving.

_"Incroyable." Incredible._ Alec remarked, in bursts as the air was pushed out of him, but then the combined efforts of Sherlock and John overwhelmed, and he gave himself up to the ever-increasing wonderful tension within, and shook himself through a small explosion.

John was not too far behind, although it remained unclear that he was anywhere near completion until he actually was complete – he maintained his power and rhythm until the very end, and finally allowed himself to collapse on top of Alec.

But Alec didn't have to fight for breath for too long, as John's weakened body was soon rolled to the side, and replaced by the certain pressure of one distinctly longer, and more slender…and more intrusive. Alec wriggled in response to the persistent, inquisitive touch at his abused rear, and rocked indecisively between blocking Sherlock's access and pursuing a third – most likely impossible – orgasm of the night.

As he contemplated, his hands ran of their own accord, up Sherlock's arm, away from where he was instigating himself between Alec's legs, up over his chest, with a quick detour to tease Sherlock's nipples to attention, and down the other arm, which he discovered, was engaged in identical activities with John's backside. Those fingers, those beautiful fingers which Alec admired both ardently and from afar, were dancing into and out of John's considerably tighter hole, causing it to flinch and grasp in response.

Alec's own fingers hesitated when he made this discovery, thinking for a moment that he was interrupting. But then John's hand enclosed Alec's, and guided it towards his entrance. A clear invitation if ever there was one. Alec pressed a fingertip where he was indicated, and marveled when it was rapidly ensconced.

It was a strange situation, feeling Sherlock's elegant fingers pressed so closely against his, in such an intimate space provided by another – not one he could remember having experienced before, and he worked to go nowhere that Sherlock's fingers were not already prying.

Curiosity and inattention, however, led his finger to crook away from Sherlock, and the rapturous response from John edged him on. He pursued this avenue, wringing all the enticing gasps and moans from John that he could, until he was reminding of both Sherlock's ability to multitask, and the location of the man's other hand.

_"Je ne peux pas – " I can't –_ he protested, darting his fingers out of John's arse, eliciting a small cry of protest from the other man.

_"Oh, je suis tout à fait sûr que tu peux," Oh, but I'm quite certain you can,_ Sherlock countered, finding that same spot at the peak of Alec's collarbone that demonstrated their claim of him, touching the skin with a hot, assessing tongue that reminded Alec only too clearly of John's recent activities.

_"Ton pouls et ta respiration sont d'un niveau acceptable étant donné ton effort actuel, et tu es en suffisamment bonne santé pour continuer. De plus, ta reaction à mon toucher et le comportement que tu viens de démontrer envers John prouvent de manière incontournable que tu es intéresse et que tu es tout à fait capable." Your pulse and respiration are both of suitable levels considering your current exertions, and you are of sound fitness to continue. Further, your responses to my touch, and your behaviour just demonstrated towards John all point towards the incontrovertible fact – that you are interested, and you are capable._

_"Oui, oui."_ Alec agreed, not wanting the gentle poetry of Sherlock's voice to stop.

_"Oui,"_ Sherlock smiled, the most honest one Alec had ever seen, and the most fixated.

_"Tourne-toi." Turn over._ Sherlock instructed, guiding Alec's movement.

Sherlock had known for a long time that he could recover quickly, and be ready again much more rapidly than John – a simple case of good fortune, more than anything else. He wasn't about to let this opportunity to exercise that knack go to waste. This time, he wouldn't be willing his erection away, or disposing of it through the simple, uninspired execution of a handjob. Here there was a willing and able body, just waiting for Sherlock to take advantage.

"Ah – " Alec grunted, realising where he was being positioned. He now lay face-to-face with John, their groins resting comfortably, stickily together, and Alec's arse on display to Sherlock's investigation.

"Hello." John greeted him, interrupting his own welcoming smile by eagerly kissing Alec, cupping his face in his hands. His tongue was active, alive, darting – Alec could barely keep up.

Preoccupied, he was then startled by Sherlock's weight settling behind him, a dull pressure once again threatening to split him in halves.

_"Je peux – oui," I can – yes,_ he repeated, reminding himself, and giving Sherlock permission at the same time.

This position took the strain off his legs, finally letting them rest, but his arse ached, and a firey heat pulsed through it in throbbing waves. Sherlock's cock twitched inside Alec, but otherwise the detective held still, waiting. For what, Alec was unsure. He contemplated Sherlock's recovery time with a sense of awe, and wasn't sure whether he prayed for John to share this impressive ability, or not.

John breathed out a shallow huff of air, causing Sherlock and Alec to sink down slightly. John reached around Alec, up to Sherlock's face, and brushed away the curls that relentlessly caught at the corner of his mouth.

"Kiss me," he demanded, but his affectionate tones made the demand sound remarkably like a favour being granted. Either way, Sherlock was not about to ignore the love of his life, the one man who had looked at the prickly exterior, and not shied away; looked beneath the prickly exterior, and not turned to run; looked into each of their cases together, and been clever enough to understand Sherlock's drive.

Sherlock pressed forward, leaning himself to move further into Alec, eliciting a quiet gasp of blissfully anguished surprise from Alec, as the younger man's body spread apart to allow the motion.

Sherlock stretched to reach John's mouth, one hand propping himself up from the bed, one hand spanning around and grasping both Alec and John's hips together. His fingers were not so impossibly lengthy as to enclose their hips, but the warm clasp and assured grip were comforting to them all; a source of anchorage, of grounding.

Alec let out a satisfied, shaky breath, and his muscles shifted, allowed Sherlock to settle more optimally.

Sherlock broke the kiss with John abruptly, and gathered himself. Alec was unlikely to come again, he knew, so he focused on his own enjoyment, allowing his mind to supply the vivid images of his cock slopping through Alec's red, swollen, come-filled interior. The thought of such a willing and accommodating participant, an attitude of cooperativeness so foreign to Sherlock intrigued him greatly, fascinated him – he wanted it all the more.

Alec's hole offered no resistance any more, and the lack of friction should have been off-putting, but Sherlock was tickled by the slick, and took on the challenge to be stimulated by Alec's absolute lack of force. He experimented with the freedom of movement being offered him, tested the limits, as was his way.

"Sherlock." John's voice brought his attention back, drew his eye to John's soft lips, moist and full.

Without seeking permission, Sherlock's mind equated the sight with the sensation of Alec's rear, so open, so enduring, and Sherlock found his release. He shouted as he spent himself, arching impossibly backwards, and clenching his hand so hard that John and Alec were undoubtedly going to be bruised – but he had no idea of the words his ecstasy elicited. They weren't important.

As his strength failed him, and he toppled from his place, he heard John's chuckle. Exhausted, yet still capable of this simple joy.

"A good start to a holiday, don't you think, Alec?" John was asking.

The young groundsman would probably not understand the rhetorical question in his current state, but Sherlock could not bring himself to translate, instead allowing gravity to control him, and leaving his arm to rest where it lay across both John and Alec's bodies; sticky, sweaty, and smelly, but happily intertwined.

-Fin-


End file.
